Chapter 82: The Greatest Band Combo in the History of Chinese Entertainment

“Is there a possibility that my concert doesn’t need this kind of collaboration?”

Zhou Yi, dazed from being hit by the boomerang, tentatively asked—and Qian Jiang immediately denied it: “Impossible, absolutely impossible.”

“Do you think you’re Zhang Xueyou or Leon Lai? Even they don’t skip this when holding concerts.”

“Maintain your current momentum. In four, eight, ten years, when the first, second, and third waves of your listeners have grown up, entered society, started earning money, even become the backbone of society—that’s when your concert peak will arrive.”

Based on his analysis of Zhou Yi’s fan base, Qian Jiang laid out a substantial pie right in front of him.

Chen Hao, sitting nearby, couldn’t help but snicker.

After Qian Jiang left, Chen Hao finally put away the contract and script, then turned to the man beside her and invited, “Let’s go. To celebrate my first time earning so much pay, I’m treating you to a big meal tonight.”

“Sure, give me a 200,000-yuan set, thanks.”

“Fine, I’ll buy you enough meat and vegetables to burst your belly.”

Chen Hao lightly tapped the man’s head with the printed contract, smiling sweetly: “I can cook for you myself.”

“Even if your stove burned down, you couldn’t finish it all—better skip it.”

Zhou Yi stood up, laughing, putting on his mask, sunglasses, and hat, then re-wrapped his neck with a gray scarf before following the woman: “I didn’t expect your pay to be this low—I thought you’d get at least 10,000 per episode.”

“Of course you can’t compare with a superstar like you—just release one album and you make millions, endorsement fees straight into the tens of millions.”

“If you only count mainland China, your earning power is undoubtedly the number one on the mainland—even Na Ying, who’s been famous in Hong Kong and Taiwan for ages, can’t match you.”

Chen Hao, stepping out to get the car, impatiently honked twice: “You probably don’t know the TV drama scene—it’s not like the music industry, where fame doesn’t matter as long as your album sells well.”

“You know Zhang Weijian, right? He earns 150,000 yuan per episode. I made less than him on one episode of ‘Pink Lady.’”

“In the mainland, actors like Chen Daoming get the same price for TV dramas.”

Two hundred thousand yuan, after paying Qian Jiang’s fee and taxes, left her with even less. That one drama earned less than one episode of someone else’s? Chen Hao wasn’t exaggerating.

“Don’t worry—I’m sure when you become famous, you’ll get 150,000 yuan per episode, maybe even more,” Zhou Yi said cheerfully from the passenger seat. “When that happens, just give me a friend’s discount for starring in my MV.”

Not joking—Chen Hao’s future hit “Ten Thousand Fans” would become a generation’s memory, overshadowing even the lead actress Liu Ruo.

Her unique, radiant, and majestic beauty—no one else from the coal baron era to the internet era to the traffic era ever matched her aura.

“You’re already this famous—do you even need me as your MV female lead? I bet dozens of women are lining up to be your leading lady.”

Chen Hao rolled her eyes: “Every day like the emperor selecting concubines—aren’t you having too much fun?”

“False accusation! Blatant slander! Watch out—I’ll sue you for defamation. Want to appear on a legal program?”

Zhou Yi, elbow resting on the window, chuckled, refuting her stereotype: “I don’t even know where those gossip rumors about those young models come from—most likely people in Hong Kong and Taiwan trying to ride my coattails.”

“Besides, you know me—if I really wanted to pick concubines, I wouldn’t choose from those women. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Chen Hao, driving, glanced at his waist and said, “You’re awfully proud—watch out, you’ll get kidney deficiency before you’re thirty.” Then she kept her eyes on the road.

“Gifted. Thank you.”

The red Mazda was stuck in Beijing traffic. With nothing else to do, Zhou Yi bickered with Chen Hao, his “I-don’t-care-if-you-get-angry” attitude making her want to stop the car, turn off the engine, and bite him.

No way to win an argument.

Especially when Zhou Yi imitated Leon Lai’s tone and said, “No wonder you’re stuck in traffic—you drive a Mazda.”

While waiting for traffic to move, drivers in neighboring cars rolled down their windows to share cigarettes and chat; the song “I Love You So Much” kept appearing with unusually high frequency on their car radio playlists.

This caught Zhou Yi’s attention.

Strange.

This song’s popularity ranked only second-tier in his first album, and for the past half-year it had hovered in the middle. How, after just one New Year, did its play count suddenly surge?

“Because of the MV.”

An hour later, in Beijing, at Warner Maitian’s office building, in Zhou Yi’s private lounge.

Having just verified the song’s popularity through the traffic jam, Zhou Yi was curious about Zhou Jianhui’s answer: “MV?”

“Do you remember who appeared in the MV for this song? Yanzi, Zhang Shaohan, Zhou Jielun—and yourself.”

When discussing the sudden resurgence of this song, Zhou Jianhui was delighted: “When Yanzi became famous last year, your MV was already noticed—we leveraged that to promote the Warner Twins.

“But with Zhou Jielun’s sudden breakout in November and Zhang Shaohan’s explosion in January, plus the recent chart battle in February between Yanzi, Xiao Yaxuan, and Zhang Shaohan, your MV re-entered the public eye.

“Even though the MV’s setting is simple, the fact that all four of you are insanely popular makes it unforgettable. Do you know what people in Taiwan are calling you now?”

Zhou Jianhui teased with a mysterious pause—this genuinely piqued Zhou Yi’s curiosity: “What are they calling you?”

“The greatest band combo in the history of Chinese entertainment.”

“….”

Zhou Yi was stunned by this dazzling title.

This crown was a bit too blinding.

“Are you sure this isn’t marketing?”

Zhou Jianhui shook his head: “Virgin and Fuhua aren’t fools. Zhou Jielun’s Alpha Company is currently drowning in bankruptcy rumors—they have zero energy for promotion.

“This slogan was coined by your fans on the island, combined with fans from the other three artists.”

Zhou Yi on vocals, Sun Yanzi on guitar; Zhang Shaohan on keyboards, Zhou Jielun on drums.

Though it lacks a conventional bassist for a traditional band, ask yourself—isn’t this lineup top-tier?

Four of the hottest newcomers forming a band in one MV? The buzz was explosive.

Worried Zhou Yi didn’t grasp how explosive the band combo in his “I Love You So Much” MV had become, Zhou Jianhui gave another example: “It’s like one day you saw Li Zongsheng, Luo Dayou, Zhou Huajian, and Wu Bai form a band together.”

“Of course, I’m not saying your status equals theirs—just describing how wildly popular you four are right now.”

“Now many fans still want to see you four reunite and sing a song together—it’s pure fantasy. Like asking Li Zongsheng, Luo Dayou, Zhou Huajian, and Wu Bai to form a band again—impossible.”

Finally, Zhou Jianhui reminded Zhou Yi: “If a reporter ever asks you, don’t say things like ‘maybe we’ll get a chance.’”

“Fuhua and Zhang Shaohan, Alpha and Zhou Jielun—they’ve all signed long-term contracts. Collaboration is fine, but their companies won’t allow their currently red-hot artists to play backup for you.”

Zhou Yi: “….”

Did I just become Zongguanxian before Zongguanxian even existed?

(End of Chapter)